


beneath the fall

by VerdantMoth



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Breaking Up & Making Up, Bucky Runs Away, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Multi, Small Towns, idkkkk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 08:16:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21051206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: You look at him, and you think, it was always going to end this way.You look at him, and you think, goddamn but you knew.You look at him, and it wouldn’t matter if someone had told you, because you’d do it again and again and again, one hundred different ways, one hundred different heartbreaks.You look at him, and you hate yourself, because as much as you think broken edges can fit together, his jagged sides were always turned away from your’s.





	beneath the fall

You look at him, and you think, it was always going to end this way. 

You look at him, and you think, goddamn but you  _ knew. _

You look at him, and it wouldn’t matter if someone had told you, because you’d do it again and again and again, one hundred different ways, one hundred different heartbreaks. 

You look at him, and you hate yourself, because as much as you think broken edges can fit together, his jagged sides were always turned away from your’s.

-

Tony is sitting at the table, hands shaking around a too large cup of cold coffee. His eyes are shadows, his beard lost the hollows of his gaunt cheeks, and his lips are colorless. Even his anger is cold, even his screaming empty. 

He isn’t yelling at you, not really. He isn’t even looking at you. Steve stands off to the left, face impassive and arms crossed. 

You want to tell Steve to fuck right off. 

You want to take the keys Steve left on the table and run.

Tony’s finger points. Steve sighs that world weary noise and you snort. You love Steve, because you can’t not, after everything. But he sure can be a drama queen sometimes.

They don’t even flinch at that-

You don’t cry. You can’t remember crying. 

But that’s the problem. That is who they see, someone broken, someone who can’t speak, won’t speak. (You won’t, but that is your business, not theirs.)

You miss whatever Tony says, but it must’ve been pretty bad, because quick as a blink Steve is leaning over him, face red and breath fanning Tony’s face. 

It’s a testament to his… stupidity? Personal moral? Whatever, that Tony stands up, presses his small frame right into Cap’s space and hisses something dark and cruel. 

This is why you have to leave, why you have to break hearts. 

They love you.

So much they can’t see anything else. Anyone else. 

You’ve seen the footage, read the letters, the transcripts. 

Hell, you have a picture on your phone, under layers of encryption and misdirection, stolen from a database you can’t even remember. 

They were friends once. Good, happy friends who loved each other the way you and Steve did a lifetime ago, a city away, a world apart. 

They’re smiling, back lit by a movie billboard, and they don’t look fucking exhausted. They lean into each other’s space and it’s not a challenge, not a competition. They lean against each other, and it’s soft and comfortable and safe.

You know what it’s like to fear the knife at every turn, to twist and arch to watch your own back because no one else is. You don’t want this for him, for them. 

You get in between them, back to Steve because you know he’d never hurt you, if he could help it. Tony eyes you, and you see the anger warming in pools of gorgeous brown, and you try to smile gently. 

Your fangs probably get in the way, but they’ve never bothered Tony. “Let’s get outta here, yeah? Go somewhere…”

Somewhere that isn’t here. 

Of course you hear Steve’s harsh inhale. He’s angry and hurt, because you’re taking Tony’s side, and despite the years, he still isn’t used to it. Isn’t used to you taking Tony away, either.

He doesn’t know what you’re going to do. He’d probably try to stop you if he did, because underneath it all, the posturing and the jealousy, he wants you to be happy. Even at the cost of his own heart.

Dumb fucker. Doesn’t he know your happiness comes from his happiness? Their happiness. You’ve only ever needed everyone around you to be okay, for you to be okay. 

“Tony, baby,” you breath out, husky like you know he can’t resist. “Lets fuck on outta here.”

Tony is a smart man. You know this. Everyone else, they think it’s all oil and grease and business meetings, but you’ve seen into dark pools of murky brown. 

When he says, “Okay,” you know it’s over. 

For a moment, one in between-the-heartbeats-breath, you want to change your mind. You want to stop this before it happens. But then Steve is throwing his hands up and stalking out and Tony is snarling at his back and you? 

You’re no coward, but you ain’t a homewrecker either, and Tony and Steve had a home before you clawed your way outta the ice.

You aren’t sorry you left the ice, as you wrap your hand around Tony’s and try to memorize every burn scar, every line, every callous. The off-center way it fits in your palm and how warm it is. 

God, he is so warm, and you are so desperate for warmth. You hate the cold, and some dark, ugly, twisted part of you has always wondered if that’s why you picked Tony. 

It doesn’t matter, because he picked you back. 

Because you always knew the fall would hurt. 

Even more so, you knew what existed beneath the fall would hurt more; might even kill you for real this time. 

You walk quietly in the evening, and you’re glad it’s summer, gladder still for the coat draped across your shoulders. Tony is twitchy, nervous beside you. 

He talks about the stars. That’s how you know. You liked science, so you love it when he rambles about gasses and diamond planets and dying nebulas and black holes. 

“I don’t want the night to end,” you whisper. 

Tony turns to you, day breaking slowly behind him, bathing him in furious oranges and gentle reds. “So don’t let it, Buck. Don’t do whatever you’re planning. We can go home, lay in our bed, and just-”

You smile, and it feels sad, despite your efforts. “You’ve always been too smart for your own good, love.”

He shakes his head, so hard you worry his brain might be rattling, and he says fiercely, “Not this time. I refuse to know, to accept whatever self sacrificing bullshit you’re going to do Barnes. God, it’s like you and Cap are the same sometimes, always killing yourselves for someone else.”

He turns his back to you, leans into your space and wraps your arms around himself. It’s better you think, this way, because seeing his face, seeing gold-brown painted in tears might stop you.

“All things must come to an end,” you say gently. 

Tony ignores you, of course. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him. 

“I love you,” you breath against his neck. 

“I always will,” you don’t add, not until you’ve walked him home. Not until you’ve left him to tell Steve what you’ve done. 

Not until you’re six states and too little sleep away from them.

-

Beneath the fall, under the fallout, there is only emptiness. 

You, staring at a screen, static playing.

You, at a diner, cup of black coffee cooling at your elbow.

You, no phone, no laptop, just a picture you scared some teen into printing. 

Steve, Tony, backlight by the sun, leaning into each other, your metal finger a smear in the lower right corner. 

That is how you imagine them, as you do odd jobs for cash.

You imagine them soft, laughing, lines about their eyes and yeah, maybe a little sad as they stare at your empty seat, but healing. 

You build something, not a house, more than a cottage. Too many bedrooms, a living space large enough for-

You tear it down, and you build it again, over and over, this thing you will not name for people you try to forget.

Beneath the fall, you sweat, and your muscles sing the best pain, and children smile because you fixed their slide and their swing and their mama’s back door and the men don’t like you, but they respect you.

You don’t go after their gals, and you don’t try to flirt with them. It’s about all they can ask for, after you plow their fields and harvest their crops. 

You don’t know when; when your hair became long enough to braid again, when you started learning names, when the flowers and pies and casseroles stopped feeling like traps and started feeling… like that word you deleted from your mind.

The kids like you, and the women adore you, and the men respect you, and most importantly; they protect you.

People come askin’ after you, all kinds. Good, bad, familiar. 

Mamas hide you and kids lie for you and the men, they respect you enough to cross their arms and stay quiet in the face of threats and lawsuits and men with briefcases. 

You think, this is why small towns never die out. They’re a little slow, but they’re loyal, and the only issues they have come if you step on their toes. 

You don’t mess with their families, you earn their respect, grudging as it is. 

Of course, you get a reputation for being good muscle, so when Roy starts mouthin’ off in Cedar Bar, and punches Old Jimmy, they come to you. Roy last .02 seconds, and the sheriff tips his hat and in the morning, there’s a case of muscadine wine and several casseroles and some homemade biscuits that make you cry.

They’re lumpy and salty and so perfect you eat them all and weep.

You make it a point to linger around them, to show up to Fall Festivals, and build floats for parades and help when the Russett’s barn burns down. 

The men respect you enough to smile and shake your hand, and the women dote on you like you’re some cute stray, and the kid’s adore you so much your metal arm has sharpie all over it and you can’t even be mad.

-

This is why you’re surprised, when Roy shows up at your door, twisting his cap in his hands. “Thank you,” he says quietly. 

He’s sober, has been for a while, and he’s your biggest defender now. You nod, and you’re about to ask how his porch is standing but he flushes. 

“Lemme talk first. Thank you, ‘cause I’d have lost Darleen if you haddn’t’a knocked sense into me. But I think it’s time to knock sense into you.”

He squares his shoulder and you look at him, ‘cause he reminds you so much of Steve, small framed but fierce. His red hair suits him, and in another life, those freckles would be lickable. “Think it’s time you come talk to the strangers that’ve been hanging at Dottie’s, ‘cause they’re starting to make the kids a lil nervous, even with their shiny gadgets.”  He holds a hand up, cutting off your protest. “Look, pal, we’ve all been mums-the-word about you, but like.” He shrugs helplessly. “Dunno who you were before you showed up here, but you got some high tech friends.” 

You slumps against the frame of your place, and rubs a hand over your face. 

Roy gets all soft, the way he does when people aren’t looking. “Listen kid,” and you have to snort, but Roy isn’t bothered. “Give ‘em a chance. You give the signal and you know all of us are gonna run ‘em out.” Roy puts a cautious hand on your shoulder. “But some demons can’t be outrun, and some you don’t want to. I dunno which they are, but you deserve somethin’ nice and soft, Mr. James. Whole town thinks so.”

“And they sent you?” You have to ask. 

Roy gives him a sly grin. “Naw man, I volunteered.” The tips of his ears go all kinds of red when he adds, “Darleen thinks scars are dashin’ you know, and she’s always liked takin’ care of folks.” 

He holds out a letter to you. “Whatever the hell happens, we’ll expect you there.”

-

Roy leaves you to deliberate.

And you do, long into the night and the early hours of the morning. 

You doen’t head into town until your eyes are gunky and your too tired to remember why this is a bad fucking idea.

Of course you get to Dottie’s, and of course she doesn’t bat an eye at you. She marches you straight to your corner booth and pours you a too big cup of hot coffee and says, “Lemme get ‘em, darling.”

Steve and Tony show up, and hover like morose shadows over you until you waves a hand. Like magic, two more steaming mugs appear, accompanied by a plates of eggs and sausage and hash browns and bowls of grits. There’s jams and flapjacks and three kinds of syrup and oatmeal and a small bowl of fruits placed at your elbow. Steve eyes the spread excitedly and Tony looks impressed.

You shrug, “They like to eat here.” 

Steve snorts, “They like you.” 

Tony nods, “Wouldn’t give us any clue about you for weeks, Buck. Some kid posted a picture online and we caught a glimpse of your arm in the background.” 

They both flush, guilty, and you can’t help but smile. “You fuckers. Nix was in so much trouble for days but wouldn’t tell me why.”

It’s awkward, and you wonder if that lies beneath all falls, or if you three are just special. 

“Why’d you run?” Tony asks. His fingers are busy, fiddling with some wire you’re not even sure where came from. 

You wave a vague hand at them, and Steve gives you his trademark Disappointed look.

You swallow against the fear clawing up your vocal cords. “I broke you both, before. Before I knew who I was. Who you were.” 

“Yeah, and we all got past it,” Tony huffs. But you can still see the guilt chewing at his nails, breaking the skin. 

“Did we?” You ask gently. “Stevie, you and him? I,” you bite your lip and then you pull out the crumpled picture and pass it across, careful of the sticky puddles. “You were happy, before I broke it. Now,” you jerk a shoulder. 

“Buck,” Steve says, sharp and commanding. You hate him for it, a little. Hate them both for reaching across and grabbing your hands, metal and flesh. “Bucky,” he says softer. “Arguing is what Tone and I do. It’s kinda our foreplay.” 

You clench your teeth and part of you aches to be childish, to twist away and pout. “You think I’m stupid?” You hiss. “You think I ain’t seen the exhaustion, the rage on your faces?” 

You aren’t crying, not quite, but you aren’t okay either. “I know what you two happy looks like, and I was breaking it apart. Crushing it, making it ugly the way I always do.” 

Something crashes in the kitchen and you all turn. 

Half the goddamned town is hiding in there, pretending not to listen, and you groan. Tony winks and Steve flushes and you groan, and it almost feels like normal. 

“Come home,” Tony says. 

“I am,” you tell him. Thing is, you aren’t lying. You’ve been avoiding the word, like it’s dirty, because a place as gentle and even paced as this doesn’t deserve your horrors. But you’ve built something here, something fragile, built it beneath the ruins of a fall you caused, and you like it.

“So we will come here,” Steve tells you.

Tony, with his sun soaked brown eyes and his puppy-like smile, doesn’t even look a little against the idea.

“Why?” You ask.

They look at each other, and you suddenly see the hands, white knuckled, sitting on the table together. “Because, we’re good, but we’re better with you,” Steve says like a fucking sap. 

“Because we love you, as much as we love each other,” Tony says like it’s obvious. “As much as we’re pretty sure you love us,” he adds, less certain.

You aren’t crying, but only because you’re holding your breath.

Miss Dottie, bless her, can’t help but hollar from the kitchen, “Well, boy! Answer them!”

Several voices shush her and you don’t mean to smile, but you do. You say, “Wanna come see the house I built?”

You say, “It’s big enough for everyone.” 

You say, “There’s even a workshop and a gym space.”

You don’t say, “I really fucking hope to God you both stay forever,” but you think you don’t need to. Not this time, anyway. 


End file.
